


Impact

by one_L



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_L/pseuds/one_L
Summary: Bill wakes in the middle of the night to find that Holden definitely hasn't escaped their car accident unscathed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else feel like Holden should have come away from the accident in episode 4 with at least a FEW injuries? The cars they drive look like giant metal death traps, and they were hit pretty hard. I was really surprised he literally walked away without a scratch on him. Any way, this fiction was inspired from that little thought. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holden and Bill arrive at the hotel, but Holden feels a little...off.

It was only a few hours after their car was sideswiped out of nowhere that Bill Tench and Holden Ford stumbled into yet another dreary, well-worn motel room. A few fingers of whiskey (and more than a few cigarettes for Bill) had certainly taken the edge off the rattled men, but both agents were ready to pass out and sleep until morning, at which point they’d finally be on their way out of this shithole town.

Throwing his suitcase onto the rickety luggage rack, Bill wordlessly took his shaving kit out and trudged into the bathroom. He shut the door with a loud click, then sighed audibly, craning his neck back and forth, trying to relieve the pain that had been developing there over the past few hours. He was emotionally and physically drained from the events of the day and wanted to wash up and make it to bed as quickly as he could, without having to speak to his partner until morning. Not that he was angry with Holden, he just simply didn’t have the mental and emotional energy to continue carrying on a conversation at that point. Thankfully, it seemed as though his partner was feeling similarly. The kid hadn’t spoken so much as a word since he finished his baked potato and last sip of whiskey at the tavern.

After splashing some lukewarm water on his face and haphazardly brushing his teeth, Bill could feel the tension already starting to leave his body. Amazing what some water and toothpaste could do to wash off the day. 

Bill emerged to find Holden sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the drawn curtains in front of him. He was still wearing his overcoat and suit, and it appeared as though he had been sitting there the entire time Bill washed up in the bathroom. Granted, it had only been about five minutes, but Bill expected the kid would have at least taken his coat off and moved his suitcase out of the main door way at this point. Still though, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen Holden withdraw into himself, appearing completely unfazed by the world around him. Probably shaken up from the crash, Bill thought. Sometimes it takes a while for things like that to sink in.

“Hey,” Bill stated gruffly. Holden jumped a little, then turned to face the older man. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah…yeah I’m good,” the kid replied softly. Even though he was looking at Bill, he still had a far off look in his eyes. Not quite a thousand yard stare, but pretty close.

“Well, you should go get washed up. It’ll help.”

“Yeah, okay,” came the reply.

Holden drew himself up to his feet and started unsteadily toward the bathroom. Bill was about to remind him he’d need his soap and whatnot, but stopped himself. He’s not the kid’s mom he reminded himself. Holden would live without his own soap and toothpaste for a night.

Bill pulled back the duvet on top of the mattress and contemplated pulling a book out to read, but quickly dismissed the idea the moment he felt the cool cotton envelope his body. He could read in the car tomorrow. Hearing the sound of running water in the bathroom, Bill knew the kid made it in there alright and would be out shortly. Sleep was already nipping at the edges of his mind, and within minutes, he was out.

______________________________________________

Holden sat hunched over in the tub, the hot water blasting full force on his downturned head. He had a massive headache, despite having taken a few aspirin with dinner. He slowly breathed in the steam rising from the tub, trying to calm the pulsating pain in his head. He’d probably been in there close to 10 minutes, and the water didn’t seem to be helping. Plus, he was already starting to prune. Figuring he was clean enough, and should just try and sleep at this point, Holden grabbed the faucet and turned it until the cascade of water diminished to intermittent droplets. He quickly dried himself off and dressed in his undershirt and pajama bottoms.

A cloud of steam poured from the bathroom as Holden opened the door. He glanced over at Bill, noticing the man had fallen asleep without even turning off the light. Flipping off the bathroom light, he made his way over to the bed until his foot unexpectedly caught the edge of the bed skirt. Holden felt the world tilt and his knees and elbows scrape against the carpet, leaving friction burns in their place. Gaining his bearings, Holden sat back on his rear and suddenly noticed that not only did his head hurt, it felt like it was filled with helium. His vision swam in front of him as he firmly gripped the bed for support, trying to stop the swirling sensation in his head. Thankfully, Bill hadn’t so much as twitched in response to Holden’s fall. He’d never live that one down, tripping over his own two feet and falling on the floor like some invalid. After what seemed like ages, he stood, one hand on the edge of his own bed, the other on Bill’s, and reached to click off the light.

The young agent nestled himself in the surprisingly soft sheets of his own bed, and quickly drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holden is sick and beligerant. Bill finds a way to deal.

It was 3:17am when Bill awoke to a loud thud and light pouring in from the bathroom. Automatically, his hand went to his loaded gun that rested on the nightstand. He glanced over at the other bed. Empty, he noticed, with the sheets tangled and twisted around as if they’d been blended together by a handheld mixer. 

“Holden,” Bill called out warily, gun in hand. Suddenly, a retching noise followed by a loud splatter echoed through the room. “Shit,” the older man muttered as he quickly set his gun on the bed and made his way toward the bathroom. 

Sprawled across the bathroom floor, vomiting next to, not into, the toilet was Holden. The kid had obviously managed to make it to the bathroom, but had clearly fallen short of the commode. He was lying somewhat on his side, propping himself up with his arms. Another great heave wracked his body and again the contents of his stomach were splattering on the floor next to the toilet and onto his shirt. 

It was almost too much for Bill to take in, but he knew he couldn’t leave his partner like this. The smell was already permeating the small motel room, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he cared enough about the kid that he couldn’t leave him alone on the floor covered in his own puke. If he was sick, Bill would probably have to intervene and help. The older man stood off to the side until it was clear the boy couldn’t bring anything else up. Holden finally let himself completely fall to the floor, attempting to miss landing in his own vomit, but still managing to drag his right arm through it.

“Jesus Christ, Holden, the hell is all this about?” Bill questioned, expecting a snarky response from the boy. When only ragged breathing came in return, he felt a pang of guilt. Probably not the best approach in this situation. Obviously, Holden was feeling quite sick.  
Bill wracked his brain for a cause to the boy’s sudden illness. “I thought you’d only had a few fingers tonight?” he inquired. As far as Bill knew, they both left the bar relatively sober. Or at least, sober enough that it certainly wouldn’t result in a bout of midnight vomiting.  
Holden grunted in acknowledgment, but couldn’t muster up a response.

What was with the unresponsiveness? Holden wasn’t moving at all save for the slow rise and fall of his chest, and his eyes were screwed shut. Whether out of pain or embarrassment, or a combination of both, Bill wasn’t sure. But he was starting to worry a bit.

“Well, kid, come on. You can’t lay there all night. Get up and we’ll straighten this out.” Though he wasn’t close to his son, the man had certainly seen him through a few middle-of-the-night illnesses like this before, and was thankful he’d at least had some prior experience. Bill threw a towel down over the bulk of the mess, and grabbed Holden’s left arm, thankful that he wasn’t entirely covered in vomit. 

“Come on, get up Holden,” Bill bit out. But the kid was practically limp under his grasp. Something wasn’t right here...

With no help from Holden, Bill hefted him up into a sitting position, quickly snatching the small wastebasket under the sink and shoving it into the kid's chest—just in case. But just as soon as Bill had pulled him up, Holden was starting to slump down again.  
“Holden, come on! You can’t lay down in here,” Bill ordered, his concern growing for his partner by the second. It was becoming quite apparent that something was very wrong with Holden. He was limp and listless, more so than what would one would expect from a typical intoxicated person. And Holden still hadn’t spoken a single word to Bill in hours. Definitely out of the ordinary for the normally bright eyed, talkative special agent.

“What’s the matter with you, huh?” he asked, this time a little gentler, placing his hand on the nape of Holden’s neck. Holden barely pried his eyes open at the contact, before quickly squeezing them shut again. The bright lights of the bathroom felt like lasers trying to bore through his skull.

“Head hurts, stomach too. Dizzy,” was all he could manage to get out. Suddenly, it clicked for Bill. The car accident! Maybe the kid was a little more rattled by it than he thought at first. If Holden needed medical attention, Bill had no idea how he’d go about doing that. Their car was wrecked, they were still miles outside of D.C. with no cabs or public transit to get to the hospital (not like he knew where one was any way), and it was the middle of the night. Should he call an ambulance? Was it really that serious? Or should he wait? The stench of Holden’s vomit began creeping its way back into his nostrils, and Bill realized he’d have to figure out what to do next later.

“Alright, why don’t we move over here where you can at least lean against something?”

Holden nodded in response, not aware of where “here” was, but trusting he’d be moved somewhere more comfortable.

Bill grabbed him under his armpits and scooted Holden toward the bathtub. He propped him up against the bathtub and watched as the kid slumped down until only his head rested on the ledge of the tub. That would have to work. 

While Holden sat there, Bill gathered up the soiled towels and tried to scoop up as much of the mess as he could without gagging himself. He unceremoniously tossed them outside of the room and came back in to attend to his ill partner.

From afar, the kid looked even more pale and pathetic, leaning simply against the side of the tub like a rag doll, with chunks of his regurgitated meal coating his shirt and skin. Bill felt another stab of guilt staring at the kid, this time because he knew the kid's suffering was a result of hia own carelessness. Or at least, partly his.

Holden groaned, and Bill moved into action, pulled from his reverie at the realization the kid was probably horribly uncomfortable. The older man moved quickly and grabbed the collar of Holden’s shirt, tearing it down the sides to avoid creating a bigger mess of the other man. Then, wetting a washcloth, he began wiping off Holden’s arms, torso, and face. Holden’s head simply lolled to the side as Bill gently cleaned him up, much like one might do for a toddler after an extraordinarily messy meal.

When Holden no longer stunk of vomit, Bill turned off the tap and slowly hefted Holden to a standing position, wrapping one of his arms around his shoulder for support. He could feel the younger man shaking unsteadily in his grip.

“Easy now, I’ve gotcha,” the older reassured. 

“Thanks,” Holden whispered breathlessly. He was still feeling horribly disoriented, though no longer as nauseous as he did when he woke up earlier.  
Bill set Holden down on the bed, then rummaged in his suit case for a clean undershirt. He tossed it to the younger man, but the kid’s reflexes failed and the shirt dropped to the floor. He bent down to get it, but unfortunately realized tilting his head downward wasn’t the best move. Holden plummeted to the floor head first, groaning upon impact.

“Fuck, Holden!” 

Bill was immediately by his side, helping him sit up again. There was definitely something very wrong with Holden. The kid was clearly sick, unsteady on his feet, dizzy. All indicators of a head injury, Bill realized.  
Kneeling down by the fallen man, Bill ran his hands around Holden's head, searching for a cut, a bump, a bruise…anything. Holden barely held back another groan as he tilted his head back, obviously in pain.

“What’s going on, kid? Where’s it hurt?” 

“All over, mostly on the right,” Holden bit out, clenching his teeth in pain.

Bill ran his fingers along the right side of Holden’s head, trying to hold back strands of hair to get a better look and feel of the area. 

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s there,” replied the older man. “But something’s not right with you. You’re sick, falling all over the place, can’t hardly coordinate your arms and legs to save your life…we’ve gotten get you seen by someone.”

“No…no doctors now. Can’t we just do this the morning?” asked Holden, his speech slurred and hushed.

“Holden, you can’t be serious. You were in a car accident not more than a few hours ago, and now you’re puking all over bathrooms and falling face first into the carpet in the middle of the night. No, you’re going.”  
Bill picked up the fallen undershirt and placed it in Holden’s lap, then stood.

“Get dressed. We need to figure out how we’re going to get you to the hospital,”

The older man moved to change clothes into something a little more acceptable to wear in public. When Bill returned to where Holden was sitting a moment later, he was surprised to find Holden still sitting, shirt in his lap, staring vacantly at the bed spread in front of him.

“Holden!” snapped Bill.

“Wha..” came the half-hearted response.

“Get dressed, we’re going!”

“My head hurts…”

“Yes, Holden, that’s why we’re going to the hospital. Now get your shirt on,” Bill replied impatiently.  
But still, Holden made no move to get dressed.

“Oh for Christ’s sake…here.”

The older man grabbed the undershirt from Holden’s lap, pulling it over his head and weaving his arms through the sleeves. He grabbed a pair of his partner’s shoes and slipped his feet into them, not bothering to tie the laces. Suddenly, Holden realized what was going on.

“Bill, stop! I’m not going…I’m fine!” 

“No, you are not 'fine'!” spat Bill. “You’re hardly conscious and I’m bathing and dressing you like a child. This isn’t up for negotiation. You're clearly not well and I’m not taking chances.”

Bill pulled Holden to a stand, but the younger man pushed back, trying to move away. Bill made a move for Holden’s wrists, but missed as Holden again tried to shove him and scoot away as quickly as he could. His weakened reflexes were no match for Bill’s, though, and soon, the older man had his wrists and pinned him to the floor.

“S-s-stop! You’re—oof-- hurting me!” Holden barely got out.

“Quit tantruming and I’ll let go!” 

Holden continued his pathetic struggle, desperately trying to get away. He didn’t know why he was acting this way—he’d never been afraid of doctors in the past. In fact, he wasn’t afraid of them now. He was just feeling…confused. His head throbbed, he was beginning to feel nauseous again, and he could hardly control his arms and legs. Why was his head hurting, again? Bill had said something about a car accident. He remembered arriving at the hotel feeling like shit, and eating a potato for dinner, but was having a hard time recalling any sort of accident. He would have remembered that, right? Holden knew he was being unreasonable, but the vomiting episode in the bathroom, coupled with his confusion and lack of coordination was just too much-- He couldn’t handle this right now! To his horror, Holden felt hot tears prick the corners of his eyes. No! Why was he crying now? He felt his breathing hitch as the first few tears slid down his temples and pooled in his ears. He scrunched his eyes shut as tight as he could, trying to regain control of his emotions.

Bill could feel Holden’s struggle coming to an end, relieved that the kid was finally petering out. He was about to give the kid some space to catch his breath, but stopped in his tracks when he saw younger man’s eyes beginning to redden and water. Was Holden…crying? For a moment, he worried he'd hurt him during their struggle. He felt the kid's chest spasm uncomfortably as Holden swallowed a sob and clenched his eyes shut. The fuck was he supposed to do now?

“Holden…” Bill started, feeling uncomfortable. The kid kept his eyes shut tightly, chest heaving irregularly with barely suppressed emotion.

“Look, I’m your partner,” Bill said softly , trying to keep his voice as calm and even-keeled as possible. “Partners look out for eachother, ya know? You’re not acting like your usual bratty self. We gotta get you looked at, okay? Something could be seriously wrong with you.”

To the frustration of both men, the tears kept coming. Holden nodded at Bill’s words with his eyes clenched shut, understanding them more than he was his own behavior at the moment. But despite Bill’s words of reassurance, a choked sob, followed by a hiccup came instead of a verbal response. Neither of them could believe this was happening right now. Not knowing what else to do, Bill decided to try a different approach. 

Releasing one of Holden’s wrists, Bill hesitantly brought a hand to the kid's face. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, hand cupping the kid’s cheek.  
Holden nodded, still refusing to make eye contact, hating that he was needing this right now. He could feel Bill’s large hand on his cheek, calloused yet warm. A surprisingly gentle thumb was wiping away the wetness at his temples, soothing the throbbing pain that had been there much of the night. The physical contact was grounding, and soon, Holden's ragged breathing began to even out. 

Despite how out of his element he felt, Bill couldn’t deny the almost paternal feeling swelling in his chest as he looked down upon his partner relaxing under his touch. Sure, the kid was a bit of a pretentious brat, but the events of the past few hours brought to the surface feelings toward the kid that had been building for weeks: Holden was more of a son to him than his own son was. And now, the kid was clearly suffering from head trauma because of something that happened under his watch. He felt horribly guilty, knowing he was partly responsible for the kid's pain right now. At least Holden had seemed to calm down a bit at this point. That was progress.

“You ready to get dressed now?” Bill asked, pulling away from the younger man.

Holden inwardly cringed at the childish question, feeling ridiculous for his actions just a moment ago. But he nodded, finally opening his eyes a bit to look at his partner.

“Alright. Let’s get going then.”


End file.
